


The ice that could not be defied

by Ruis



Category: Greek and Roman Mythology
Genre: F/M, Mythology - Freeform, Rituals
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-08
Updated: 2019-02-08
Packaged: 2019-10-24 07:24:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 556
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17700116
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ruis/pseuds/Ruis
Summary: A last unseen nod from queen to queen, and then I’m going down, I’m going home to meet my love.





	The ice that could not be defied

**Author's Note:**

  * For [AceQueenKing](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AceQueenKing/gifts).



I’m halfway down the first flight of stairs before I even realize it is time again, yet I suppose a part of me had always known it is not the sunlight that owns me. Roaming fields the hue of mother's hair, accompanied by laughter and the scent of wheat, my steps can never follow any pattern but the unconscious spiral away from home, inevitably leading down. Down, away from the sun and heat and life – because the ice could never be defied.

The place of descent is easy to find, the path always the same, no matter where I start. This is my husband’s first greeting, the ritual that leads me back to him. I welcome it into my very being and I feel the priest’s chant within my rapidly cooling bones. Absentmindedly, I wonder whether he knows how very soon he will follow me on the steep path down. I wonder whether he minds, his prayer so very full of longing – but no matter. A mortal can not distract me from my purpose although I briefly smile while I allow his drumming to become the rhythm of my feet. 

Were I to look back now, I’d see a world on the brink of turning to ice as well. Oh, the air is still warm, with some days left to bring the harvest in, but already the promise of ice is on the wind. And a promise it is! Sometimes I wonder why it fell to me to negate mother this way... But of course I don’t look back, I never do. In the distance, is that the sound of a lyre I hear?

The hallway I pass is also covered in ice. I smile when I brush against one of the sparkling crystals and it feels warm to the touch although my feet are cold. This is true ice that has been touched by the world below, that has frozen so cold it has forgotten how to thaw. This is the ice that made me strong. Laughing, I lick the crystal’s very tip. I recognize my husband’s second greeting and after all these years, it still moves me as nothing else could. Ice, after all, can not be defied. 

Yet deeper I follow the path that by now has become a part of me, the core of what I have become now that I am not just the daughter anymore, not just a girl. In my haste, I almost stumble, with the holy beat fading into the distance – my hands are busy braiding mother’s last gift into my windswept hair. I will wear that garland of poppies as a crown, and another around my waist, when soon I will again discard all that ties me to above. Above, where truth is only a dim memory, where I never fully remember my kingdom, my power, my husband's kiss, and the ice, oh, the ice! A last memory of sunlight while I anticipate the moment I cannot hear the chants anymore, while I wait for my heart to stop beating again. To receive my husband’s third greeting, I leave behind my dress, carefully embroidered by mother’s hand, red pomegranates a shocking pattern on the pale river bank. A last unseen nod from queen to queen, and then I’m going down, I’m going home to meet my love.


End file.
